herself a blur in your dissolving head
by xshedreamsinredx
Summary: Klaus/Hayley. I confess I've lost control.


**A/n: **The Murphy's Law states: 'If anything can go wrong, it will go wrong.'

**herself a blur in your dissolving head**

"_The world might end, the night might fall.  
Rain on down and cover us all,  
and drown us with the burden of our sins.  
Maybe I'll look you in the eye,  
tell you, you don't wanna die.  
Maybe I'll hold my breath and jump right in_."  
- **Control by Garbage **

-O-

It is in the middle of March that she escapes from the oh-so secretive, clichéd-as-fuck, cemetery oriented witches' hideout in New Orleans. The thought of finding her parents takes the backseat as she dashes away from the city that threatened her life on a daily basis in an almost maddening frenzy.

She ditches her cell phone in the first body of water she finds, in order to avoid detection and takes to sleeping in dingy, seedy motels in the middle of nowhere instead of her car to prevent a premature death, what with age old hybrids, vampires and witches chasing at her heels because of this fancy ass notion they have about her carrying a miracle child or something equally idiotic that she is less than inclined to believe without a medical check up, thankyouverymuch.

-O-

So, she goes to a hospital. Mostly, because she chooses to put her faith in traditional medicine like a sound being instead of voodoo and witches who have a special 'gift' for perceiving pregnancies.

Frankly speaking, she was a little nonplussed back in the room when Elijah had asked his megalomaniac of a brother to listen to something that was not there but she had played along because she knew how nasty the witches get when they don't get what they want and she had hoped against hope that they would let her leave after she had served her non-existent purpose.

The doctor is a charming, old lady who asks her the necessary questions and conducts an examination only to declare later, rather cheerfully, that she is in fact very pregnant and proceeds to tell her the safety measures and the entailing details that she can hardly catch on due to the sound of blood roaring in her ears.

-O-

She is awarded by a disapproving stare from the bartender when she slips into the barstool and orders a rum and coke. "You are underage."

She is also the epitome of verifying Murphy's law and a badly inspired Teen Mom clone but you don't seem to find her complaining. She stoops a little in her seat, offering a blinding view of cleavage and flutters her eyelashes at him suggestively, the blood rushes to make her cheeks flame in a way she knows is more desirable than jail bait.

This is who she has always been.

She is not a 'liquor-fuelled, one night stand' or 'wolf girl' or some other idiotic synonym that people choose to define her with. Their delineation has stopped changing her perspective of who she is. She is Hayley; she is ugly and beautiful, weak and strong, subdued and wild, shallow and selfish until she is deep and selfless. She feels lost as of now but she'll find her way before the sun rises in the sky, she knows that.

The bartender swallows, looking away. A few moments tick by before a rum and coke is placed in front of her. She smiles triumphantly.

-O-

She eyes the glassy confinement containing the alcohol with an avid precision as if she is waiting for it to explode or something. Deliberating whether she can blatantly disregard the sanctity of life growing inside her and gulp down the bitter liquid.

She wonders; if she actually wants the life to continue growing. What sort of a person she would be if she brings a child into such an unfeeling world? A world where its life would always be endangered by threats, where its life would be overshadowed by a homicidal maniac for a father, surrounded by horrors.

She holds the glass with fingers that tremble, brings it to her lips and is just about take a sip when-

"That was a neat trick," he looks a little like Tyler -with dark hair and dark eyes and dark smirk- which is probably the only reason she listens to him. "I'm almost impressed."

"Well, I am not." She says, placing the glass back down on the counter because she doesn't have it in her to kill a defenceless, barely existing child. "You are not particularly eye catching or charming."

He slides in a seat next to her and steals her alcohol, looking at her with scarcely concealed interest. "I beg to differ, I am plenty charming."

She side eyes him, a taunting smile sneaking its way up to her lips. "If that was a challenge, you'd lose.

-O-

That is how she ends up, pressed against him in a dark, murky alley.

Tugging the strap of her dress down, he dusts kisses on her bare shoulder, moving his mouth along the length of her clavicle.

"God," he breathes in her ear, lips blazing across her skin. "God, you are beautiful."

She doesn't need him telling her that, she already knows.

"I know that." She tells him without managing to sound conceited or ungrateful. Her voice comes out sounding neutral as if she is used to hearing people tell her that and to some extent, she is.

"Awareness of beauty is deadly for those at its receiving end." She feels cold in her dress as something in air shifts and she sees him rather than feel his presence. Cerulean eyes stare at her impassively, making her heart stutter in a way that is more c-grade horror than romantic and, there is little to nothing she can do to stop him from plunging his hand into the chest of the man plastered against her and rip his heart out.

"I couldn't agree more, mate." He licks the blood off his fingers, watching with a clinical sort of interest as the body slumps, a scream freezes in her throat as she feels the hot liquid pour from the gaping hole in his chest and drench her dress.

She pushes the body away and cringes when it lands with a sickening thud on the ground. The sound scares her so much more than any other sound she has ever heard because it is a tangible detail to attest to the fact that she is not dreaming or having her head messed up by a vampire.

So, she does the only thing that a person who has been worn thin by being on the run for consecutive days does when faced by the very cause of the dilemma. She faints.

-O-

She wakes up to the sight of his face looming over her and screams with hardly obscured terror. In return, he steps back to give her the necessary time to deliberate the situation. They are in what she assumes is some sort of hotel room, she looks around the room, pointedly ignoring him and then trains her eyes on her hands that are covered in splotches of blood that does not belong to her.

"We are heading home, make yourself decent." He orders, interrupting the bouts of self-loathing, carefully disinterested eyes flickering to the tugged down strap of her dress briefly. "We can't go around in public with you looking like an assaulted hooker from American Psycho."

She glares at him, because of course, he has read American Psycho, must have wanted a second opinion on his torture methods. "It's not my home."

"It could be." He offers in what he assumes is an amiable, less hostile gesture but it comes off sounding like a threat.

"And what if I don't want it to be?" She questions, pulling back the strap of her bloody dress back from where it had slid off. His eyes follow the movement before he turns to her.

"You don't have a choice," his mouth arches upwards in what would have been a patronizing smile on Tyler.

She blinks away the slight blurring of her eyes at the sudden feeling of helplessness. "You don't control me."

"Not yet." He admits with ease, shrugging his shoulders. "But I can. I can just compel your free will away and you won't be able to do a thing about it, love."

She feels herself tense. "Would you now?"

"Not if you make the right choice," he looks at her in a way that makes her skin crawl, his voice is unfinished and raw and crude when he speaks again. "And just so you know fucking strangers is no longer the right choice for you."

She clenches her hands to stop herself from pouncing at him; the pain of fingernails digging into her palms provides her with enough edge to think clearly. "You are obsessed with Caroline."

She means to state it like a reminder but it ricochets more like a fact. He leans towards her then, dancing his fingers on the underside of her chin. His eyes, a blank blue canvas of insanity before he lets a maniacal chuckle escape his lips. "Well, I hate to share my toys even then."

-O-

**A/N**: Ah, it's been too long since I wrote something TVD and then too, I am writing for unpopular ships but what can I say in my defence? I'm a masochist; crack ships cast a charm over me like no other canon ships can. Anyways, please leave me a review, I kinda put in efforts while writing this. I even delayed watching Grey's Anatomy season 9 finale for this. That has to count for something, right? Also, find the cover picture on tumblr, it doesn't belong to me.


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